Plattegrond

woensdag 2 maart 2016

"The concept of terrestrial, not-Heaven-bound, un-restricted non-religious happiness for working folks not viewed as an abomination by Christian churches is a relatively new idea. Fun for the rabbleous masses, stuff happening to the far west of the east-entrenched Eden* (as in the Steinbeck novel), was generally a no-go so far as institutions such as the Catholic church was concerned. Medieval geography of imaginary places where happiness dwells included the Land of Cockaigne and the Isle of the Blest, places that represented both wish fulfillment and resentment at the strictures of asceticism and dearth.
The peasantry existed in a state of semi-amicable slavery under the thought- and emotional-control of the aristocracy and the church, living in fear of their immortal souls dancing in the ring of fire for thinking heathenous thoughts, or persecuted by the legal entity for being too immodest. 'Fun' was a very expensive commodity, and was seen by The Church as being too expensive and rare to share. Fun represented a departure from the routine, an affront to the teachings of scripture, a lessening of the control enjoyed by all ruling classes. And so Medieval legends such as the Land of Cockaigne, with its promises of unbridled eating and gluttony and sexual liberty and disobedience was a direct charge against the established distribution of power and wealth, and could not be tolerated. Fun was kept for someone else. [...]

Atlantis and El Dorado might’ve been fancy sounding places to a lot of poor people, but Cockaigne must’ve sounded better by leaps and bounds—no piles of gold, no great extravagances, just rewards of plenty to eat and drink, and sleep, and some sex. All of these promises existed so far beyond the pale of the Church that even thinking about a crust’s-worth of such anti-biblical carnage would send you straight to hell. Which sounds terrifically strange to me now because the actions here, in Cockaigne, are largely passive (though of course hedonistic), and aren’t vengeful, hurtful, spiteful. It is mainly, well, lazy, full of sleep-inducing foods. Bittersweet dreams like this formed for themselves a basis of pure hate within the church, mainly because it was taken as a threat to the core fundamentals of religions at the time. It should be said that many of the tellings of this legend do have their fair share of anti-clerical runs, nun-hunting and monk bashings. Oopsie! [...]

These are concepts that have existed for hundreds of years in different sorts of peasant paradises, not the least of which is the 20th century’s contribution of 'Big Rock Candy Mountain', a song composed by Harry McClintock (1882-1957). In many ways this song contains the most simple, most heartbreaking of the simple wishes of the American hobo of the Great Depression era. The 26 (or so) wants are spectacular in their smallnesses and simpleness (see below for full lyrics of the song):

(1) a land that's fair and bright (2) handouts grow on bushes (3) sleep out every night
(4) boxcars are all empty (5) the sun shines every day (6) cigarette trees (7) lemonade springs (8) bluebird sings (9) all the cops have wooden legs (10) bulldogs all have rubber teeth (11) hens lay soft boiled eggs (12) farmer's trees are full of fruit (13) barns are full of hay (14) ain't no snow (15) rain don't fall (16) the wind don't blow (17) never change your socks (18) little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks (19) brakemen have to tip their hats (20) railroad bulls are blind (21) lake of stew and of whiskey (22) jails are made of tin (you can walk right out again as soon as you are in) (23) no short handled shovels, (24) no axes saws or picks (25) you sleep all day (26) they hung the jerk that invented work.

These wishes are gathered together as follows:

Food: cigarettes, lemonade, soft boiled eggs, fruit trees, streams of alcohol, land of stew and whiskey
Geography: land fair and bright, sleep out every night, sunshine, bluebirds, no snow, no rain, no wind.
Social: handouts grow on bushes, cops have wooden legs, bulldogs have rubber teeth, (railroad) brakemen (who would normally throw hobos from the trains) have to tip their hats to the hobos; railroad bulls (the railroad cops who would be um pro-active and brutal in getting rid of the ‘hobo problem” from the trains); revolving door jails are made of tin; no axes, saws or picks; and finally, no short-handled shovels.
Personal: sleeping all day, sleeping out at night, and not changing your socks. (Not even a whiff of carnal anything.)
And of course the hanging of the man who invented the whole concept of work.

I think that in all of these simple dreams, the 'short-handled shovels' one is the most tremendous, and most heart-breaking. The short-handled shovel is a backbreaker, made for working in stubborn, small holes or tight places. If you needed to use a shovel on something, you’d want to use a long-handled one. Keep in mind that the song didn’t call for no shovels—just a decent one that you could work with humanely.

The song is beautiful and stands for a wide majority of thought in the U.S. in the troubled 1930’s. It is also in many ways related to the classic peasant utopias and dreamlands—perhaps it is just like Cockaigne, just removed 500 years.